It was too beautiful that morning.
Too eerily quiet and reflective.
I always had those dreams when I napped, the ones that were much too lifelike.
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I slipped myself out of your bed, searching the floor for my clothes with my hands.
I could never fully dress myself, choosing to only wear an item or two.
Who needed clothes anyway when I was with you?
Morning light warmed up your kitchen, inviting me in for coffee and breakfast.
We werent much of a breakfast kind of couple.
We had places to go and things to do.
That morning felt like a morning to have a good breakfast, though.
The body can sense when it will need more than the regular dosage.
The body is predictable like that.
Toast and jam, a little juice, but two cups of coffee that morning.
You joined me after your shower.
I loved the way your hair fell into place when it was wet.
Combing it would have been criminal, destroying its natural ability to shape your face.
We sat across from one another, chewing away silently like wed wake a ghost in the apartment.
I wondered what you were thinking, but I couldnt bring myself to ask.
Id had only one coffee.
You smiled at me kindly, like you had something to say but hadnt had enough coffee, either.
It was too beautiful that morning.
Too eerily quiet and reflective.
We were not morning people.
We were not the kind of people who pulled themselves from bed and cheerily began their days.
We were not the kind of people who could be seen before 8 a.m.
But that morning, we were happy, and when did we start smiling in the mornings?
Id hate to call it cinematic, but wasnt it?
Wasnt it too perfect, the moment in which we became ourselves again and no longer one unit?
